May 11, 1895 — The Society for the Transfiguration Arts, London
Another day had gone by at work and Sweetie wanted to spend a few hours at the society before heading back home. Get a few hours in for her own personal studies and enjoying herself without the restriction of being given specific projects. It felt like entering into a second home. Almost like her real home. So much less tense than under the roof of Handsome Whitledge. She loved her sisters, she did. As she grew older, her fondness for them grew far more than her childhood had ever appreciated. If only Pumpkin could see her now.
Yet now she avoided that life — for a couple more hours — for the one she was making for herself. One with faces she had mostly found on her own, separate from her family. Eventually, this would primarily be her life. Once she was married… did she ever think she would think of herself as married? For quite a while she thought of herself as the spinster aunt. Running off to one of her sister’s homes once they were married if their husbands weren’t as obnoxious as Handsome. But now?
Was Frederick the man who changed the plan? He certainly wasn’t obnoxious — well, not as obnoxious as Handsome, and certainly not the same type of obnoxious. He was actually… refreshingly thoughtful. Intellectual. His personality did rub off on her every now and again. She actually found herself wanting to go to certain events he expressed interest in, much to Darling’s delight.
Just like that, Sweetie found herself overthinking again as she stepped through the door and began walking into the parlor. Don’t spiral, don’t overthink everything. It will start to show. Of course, she would be writing down an essay in her diary later that night about these exact internal struggles and more. Pros and cons.
Today the walls had a growing moss that looked soft enough to sleep on. The doors were enormous and triangular as far as her eyes could see, and she wondered where things began to change, as they so often did. The lights looked like fireflies caught on individual strings, flying around with a sense of urgency and everything. Perhaps the fireflies did have a sentience of sorts, with the limitations of magic. There was a small guilt with that thought, though she did try not to linger on it. Gratefully, the floor often stayed solid, and no one made it outright unsafe. But one time it had been a jelly like consistency that had irked a portion of the society. There has been debate as to making an amendment to the rules to limit how much the floors and ceilings can be altered. That had been two months ago.
Picking out a book from the library and grabbing a few supplies, she picked out a work space and began a project she had been thinking about for the past few weeks. She had been reading up on it, but this was the first time that some practical use was going to be applied. Hearing footsteps that were becoming increasingly more familiar, she glanced up. “Hello Mr. Patton.”
Frederick Patton
Yet now she avoided that life — for a couple more hours — for the one she was making for herself. One with faces she had mostly found on her own, separate from her family. Eventually, this would primarily be her life. Once she was married… did she ever think she would think of herself as married? For quite a while she thought of herself as the spinster aunt. Running off to one of her sister’s homes once they were married if their husbands weren’t as obnoxious as Handsome. But now?
Was Frederick the man who changed the plan? He certainly wasn’t obnoxious — well, not as obnoxious as Handsome, and certainly not the same type of obnoxious. He was actually… refreshingly thoughtful. Intellectual. His personality did rub off on her every now and again. She actually found herself wanting to go to certain events he expressed interest in, much to Darling’s delight.
Just like that, Sweetie found herself overthinking again as she stepped through the door and began walking into the parlor. Don’t spiral, don’t overthink everything. It will start to show. Of course, she would be writing down an essay in her diary later that night about these exact internal struggles and more. Pros and cons.
Today the walls had a growing moss that looked soft enough to sleep on. The doors were enormous and triangular as far as her eyes could see, and she wondered where things began to change, as they so often did. The lights looked like fireflies caught on individual strings, flying around with a sense of urgency and everything. Perhaps the fireflies did have a sentience of sorts, with the limitations of magic. There was a small guilt with that thought, though she did try not to linger on it. Gratefully, the floor often stayed solid, and no one made it outright unsafe. But one time it had been a jelly like consistency that had irked a portion of the society. There has been debate as to making an amendment to the rules to limit how much the floors and ceilings can be altered. That had been two months ago.
Picking out a book from the library and grabbing a few supplies, she picked out a work space and began a project she had been thinking about for the past few weeks. She had been reading up on it, but this was the first time that some practical use was going to be applied. Hearing footsteps that were becoming increasingly more familiar, she glanced up. “Hello Mr. Patton.”
Wanna be there for Sweetie during her post-election slump?
